Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk
by Stephane Richer
Summary: You got to keep in the game, retaining mystique while facing forward.


Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk

Disclaimer: I don't own Rufus Wainwright's "Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk" or Tite Kubo's _Bleach_.

* * *

It could most certainly be said that Kurosaki Isshin was a very self-indulgent man. Why else would he shout dramatic monologues to his children, who, by now, had learned not to pay much attention? Was it perhaps due to masochism? Every time Ichigo would kick him through a window or Karin would punch him down a hill, he would just get back up cheerfully and try again.

At least, that was the way it seemed to friends, neighbors, and clients. Maybe, they thought, it was a way for the doctor to release some of his pent-up energy, a way to practice keeping a straight face when he could not save a patient.

But they looked past the way he never seemed to indulge his darker side. Perhaps they could not fathom a man like that even having a dark side. It was an easy mistake to make; he'd been putting up this facade for as long as he could remember, which was several human lifetimes. He'd practically perfected the act.

Of course, she'd seen right through him. The way she thought was so radical, so different (was it because she was a human? A quincy? So much younger?) that he couldn't keep anything from her.

He'd seen death before, from so many angles. Seen family members die, seen friends die, seen his squad members die, had killed so many hollows he couldn't even count them anymore. He'd expected to see patients die, knew they would. And he handled it well. He'd been quite experienced in notifying squad members' families of their deaths that this was nothing new. But the first time he'd been unable to save a child was after he himself had become a father. Ichigo had just turned two, just celebrated his birthday, was developing into a bright and amusing young person.

Isshin informed the family solemnly. He was able to do that much, at least.

Masaki found him sitting in the driveway after he'd chain-smoked most of a pack. He did not seem to notice her presence. He exhaled white smoke, did not watch as it drifted aimlessly into the night like a restless spirit. The cigarette was now just a butt and he lit the next one methodically, tossing aside the old one after he had lit the new. It glowed for a few seconds, and went out as he inhaled.

Tentatively, she placed her arm around his shoulder. He leaned into her, the smell of Seven Stars enveloping them.

"She was just a kid, just 5." His voice cracked; his shoulders shook. He seemed to forget the lit cigarette in his hand, let it burn away like incense.

"You did your best..." her voice faltered, too. She knew his fears exactly.

"Damn it, I know! My best wasn't good enough!" he shouted to the moon above him, half-alive and glowing like a spotlight, taunting him and illuminating all his faults.

"And sometimes it won't be. You can't save everyone." She felt like she'd been on the other side of this conversation before.

His shaky hand dropped the cigarette.

"But you damn well better keep trying," she continued. "You're not going to quit this soon, are you?"

He shook his head.

"You and I both are here to protect Ichigo, right? Didn't we make a promise?"

"Yeah..."

"And Urahara-san's got Shinigami friends who will take him in if anything does happen, right? Didn't you say he knew your niece?"

"But nothing will happen."

"Of course not." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then moved backward as if to go back inside.

He pulled her down into his lap. "No. Stay."

She complied, resting her head on his shoulder. His body became steadier; the shaking subsided.

He sighed. "I never wanted you to see me like this."

"You've seen me in a worse condition. It's only fair."

"I wanted to be a stoic manly man in front of you. But you see right through me anyway, don't you?"

"I know how uncool you are," she stated like it was some kind of everyday fact. "I always knew, and I married you anyway, didn't I?"

Well, she had a point.

"But you do look kinda cool when you're smoking."

He laughed. "And you always tell me to quit, and that it's bad for me?"

She shrugged. "I just don't want any other girl to see you looking cool and take you, that's all."

"Really?"

"Of course. I'm insecure, too, you know."

"You don't have to worry about anything like that ever happening."

She snuggled closer, stifling a yawn.

"We should probably go in." He stood up, keeping her in his arms.

She let her carry him until they reached Ichigo's room, checking to find him sleeping peacefully and serenely, quite a contrast from the hyperactive little boy he became when awake. If not for his distinctive orange hair, one might not recognize him.

* * *

Perhaps he became more self-indulgent after Masaki died because there was no one to offer him even a glimmer of hope that he was cool. Karin personally thought he was trying to compensate for the kids only having one parent by acting larger-than life (and his attempts, while understandable, were woefully inept and if he hadn't gotten the hang of it in almost ten years he probably never would. Maybe by the time he had grandchildren.) and constantly exclaiming, "Masaki!" Ichigo figured that with no one to shut him up, he had gotten out of control and his and Karin's attempts were too little, too late. Yuzu wondered if he was just bored and a little lonely and made sure he knew she loved him.

After all, protecting his kids and being the "strong dad" type was Isshin's number one self-indulgence.


End file.
